


Never Again (Shall I Submit)

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fade Sex, NSFW, Post-Trespasser, angry make-up sex, just felt like writing an angry spat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan swore that she would find a way to make things right, even at the risk of her own life. Solas greatly disapproves.</p><p>Post-Trespasser fic, in which the two get into an argument and a power struggle, and then into bed. NSFW for fun times in the Fade. No real plot, just porn. :p</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Again (Shall I Submit)

She’d been hoping to see trees.

Well, perhaps it was better to say that she’d been expecting trees. Or rather, she’d been hoping to find him in the Fade, waiting for her beneath the trees so that she could give him a piece of her mind. It had taken her over an hour to fall asleep, and even then, she hadn’t been able to fall sleep without the aid of one of the healer’s sleeping tonics. The woman had assured her that she would get rest, implying that it would be a dreamless night, but she didn’t want dreamless. She wanted him.

What she got was Skyhold.

Well, no, not Skyhold, not exactly. The foundations of the place were there, true enough, but the banners were wrong, the columns more refined, more elegant. Her Ferelden statues were gone, even her favored stone marbari poised beside her throne. They were all gone, replaced with twisted sculptures made of wood and metal, as though trees had taken root within the very bones of the castle and bloomed flowers of silverite and dawnstone. An enchanting sight, perhaps, but she was in no mood for flowers.

This was _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ in all its Elvhen glory.

Had it been any other night, she would have smirked at that thought, remembering Sera’s rather apt description of Solas’ pride and pursuits, and his insistence that he uttered no such thing. This was not such a night, however, and she could not allow herself even the slightest distraction. She slammed open the door to the rotunda, expecting him there, pausing when he was not. She scowled, looking around the empty room, taking in the bare white walls and organized desk in the center of the room. 

“I know you’re here!” she shouted, her voice echoing up through the empty room. Without the usual cackle of Leliana’s birds, or the bustling noises of people going about their daily lives, the room was cold, deathly quiet, and slightly menacing. She waited for some sort of reply, knowing he was here, somewhere, watching her. This was very clearly his dream, or at least some construct he created within the Fade to meet her. Apparently he was going to approach her upon his own terms, whatever they might be.

As it was, she felt exposed, knowing full well how many nooks and crannies the room held. She didn’t expect demons, knew that Solas would never act in a way to harm her or trap her in a place where her mind or her spirit were at risk. Even at his angriest (and she’d managed to rile that side of him quite frequently, as of late) he still sheltered her from all the dangers that he could.

Unfortunately, she’d long since realized that demons held no threat to her in the Fade. She’d already met and embraced the most powerful and terrible creature she was likely to meet within the world of dreams, and the bringer of nightmares could – and had— caused more damage than any mere spirit or demon.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” She asked the empty room, balling her fist and bracing herself against the overwhelming silence. “Just going to sit and sulk in the rafters, and we’ll spend the evening quietly seething, refusing to speak to one another? You surprise me, _hahren_. For all your years, these are the actions of a spoiled little brat. Why won’t you speak to me, _ma fen_?”

“And what would you have me say?” was the terse reply, and she turned, seeing Solas stand in his full armor, an incongruous sight within the familiar setting. He glared at her, hands clasped behind him, shoulders set back, spine straight. He used his height to the full effect, and she had to look up at him, even on tiptoes.

“As you say, we are both adults. I did not expect that I would have to act as your Keeper, to lecture you on taking risks that would get you killed had my people not been there to save you.”

“Ah yes, your people,” she growled, striding over to glare up at him. She put her hand on her hip to better restrain herself. “Let’s talk about _your people_ interfering in _my affairs_.”

He scoffed, looking down his nose at her, nostrils flaring as he tried to control his temper.

“We spoke of this before. As I warned you, in maintaining any form of organization, you leave yourself open to infiltration of enemy forces. So long as you refuse to learn from your mistakes, you will continue to repeat them. You were fortunate that this latest blunder did not cost you your life. I do not have time to watch over you, _da’len_.” 

His emphasis on the last word stung, and her hand flew up of its own accord. He caught it before she could slap him, of course, his grip was firm and immobile. 

“Save me you lecture then,” she hissed. “Although I know you would relish the chance of telling the Dalish how we’re wrong about everything, and how we know nothing of what it means to be true Elvhen. You always did like to hear yourself talk.”

He released her and stepped back, his expression cool and blank. She trembled at the sudden loss of touch, and balled her hand back into a fist. It was times like this that she wished she could still wrap her arms around herself, to curl inwards and block out the outside. Or better yet, to go back to a time when she could argue with him during the day, but still fall asleep with him by her side, all disputes forgiven, if not forgotten. 

She stared at the ground, willing herself to stay strong, focusing on her breathing. They stood there for several minutes, neither willing to back down, but neither were they willing to leave. Standing there, she felt the dull ache in her abdomen where the would-be assassin’s blade had broken off, the poison all but gone from her system thanks to the timely intervention of one of the medics—apparently one of Solas’ people. 

It was a shame; the woman had been a great asset, highly skilled and knowledgeable in her craft. But she’d been forced to use Solas’ name to convince a poisoned Remli to drink the potion that nullified the toxic concoction, and once again mentioned him by name to give her a sleeping draught. No doubt the healer would be gone when the Remli woke up again, whenever that would be. The reality of this dream seemed steady, solid, either by effect of the poison, the antidote, or by Solas’ own control over the Fade. She would be here until Solas was done with her.

It beat running through the woods, at any rate.

“I hate this,” she admitted, although she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “This was not the ‘ever after’ I imagined for us.”

He moved to her and drew her close, guiding her head to his shoulder, giving the crown of her head a gentle kiss before tucking her under his chin.

“I know, Vhenan.” He sounded as weary as she felt, the anger between them fading as they focused on the larger picture of the world. Thedas could go down in flames around them, either one or the other of them responsible for its fall, but in the end, it didn’t matter, at least not for her. No matter what Varric wrote in his book, there would be no happy ending for them.

She sighed, pulling back to look at him, to let her fingers trace the worry lines that she didn’t remember seeing the last rare times he’d spoken to her in the Fade. She longed to ask him what was going on, what kept him awake at night, what she could do to make it easier. But she knew that her questions would be met with silence or gentle rebuffs, and she was—at least in part—one of those worries that weighed him down.

“I wish that I could stop this,” she admitted, cupping his cheek in her palm. “I will find another way, I promise. I won’t stop until we find something.”

He turned into her touch and kissed her palm, one hand coming up to cradle hers, the other holding her loosely at the hip. He smiled down at her, although his eyes remained troubled. “I would expect nothing less from you, my heart. Still, I wish that you would find happiness in what time remains.”

She shook her head, forcing herself to step back, and straightened her spine. She allowed a little space between them, but remained close enough that she did not have to break all contact. She trailed her fingers to down to rest above his heart, and gave him a level look.

“I am Dalish,” she said, “Have we ever done anything the easy way, or followed orders we didn’t like?” 

She allowed a slight lilt into her voice, that accent that Josephine had spent nights trying to drill out of her in time for Halamshiral, to make her seem less the barbarian. It was strange to think that what she had once considered her true voice sounded so foreign to her now. Bare faced, Common tongue accent, allowing herself only a spattering of elvish words when she truly needed to swear, she was little more than an elven shem now—even more diminished when compared to the remnant Elvhen who now openly walked Thedas. She allowed herself a small, bittersweet smile at the thought. 

“Given how many of the clans have thrown in with your people, I am surprised that you have not yet realized that we do as we wish, and will not be dissuaded once we set our minds to something.”

“I had noticed that, yes,” he replied, allowing himself a small chuckle at her expense. “You truly have an indomitable focus. At the risk of your own personal safety, I might add. I wish that you would do as I asked in this, Vhenan.” 

“ _’We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last Elvhen. Never again shall we submit,’_ ” she quoted, recognizing the ironies of that oath and not really caring. “I will not bow to anyone’s will; not to you, not to the Evanuris, not to the humans, not to the Divine, not to whatever bloody blight monster decides to rear its head next. You will not find me on my knees,” she promised, lowering her voice and giving him a coy smile.

She allowed her fingers to trail lower, teasing their way down his belly, resting them in the thick pelt just above his belt. Her eyes flicked up to his face, and her grin grew a little more as she saw that she had his rapt interest.

“Not unless I want to be there,” she finished, and with that she sank to her knees, fingers searching beneath the furs for some sort of purchase on the chainmail he wore. 

Since losing her left hand, she’d relearned how to lockpick one-handed (in thanks to the efforts of Sera and her people), solely for the purpose of proving that she could. Now that she wanted the prize locked away, however, she was finding it near impossible to find any sort of access. She sighed, looked up, and gave him a wry smile.

“As much as I admire the way you look in this armor, my love, I think that I would like the look of you even better without it on.” She tugged at the stubborn mail that held fast, refusing to reveal its secrets to her. Solas gently pulled away her hand, drawing her to her feet.

“Swear to me that you will not be so reckless in the future,” he said, holding her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip. She blinked at him, not believing it, and tilted her head to look at him.

“Really?” she asked. “You’re going to ransom fun times in the Fade for a promise that I’ll behave myself like a good little da’len?” His lip twitched, a smile threatening to ruin his serious composure, though he quickly squashed it.

“So it would seem. Swear that you will not go blindly into such danger again,” he replied, other hand pressing against the small of her back, holding her in place.

“I can’t promise you something that I have no control over,” she retorted, pulling at his grip and finding him unmoved. “Really, Solas?”

“I cannot in good conscience allow you to leave if I think that you will go off to do something rash,” he replied, drawing her closer. She tugged harder at his hold, frowning.

“So what, you’ll just leave me here, trapped in a dream and sleeping away the end of the world?” she growled at him, feeling the anger from earlier that evening rekindle. “You forget that I know you, Solas. As soon as you get what you want you’ll leave, or you’ll force me to wake up. Then I’ll spend the rest of the night unable to fall asleep, which will leave me making sloppy mistakes that could ultimately get me killed. If I am on a mission and I see an opening, I will take it—with or without your approval.”

“Then it would seem we are at an impasse,” he replied, curt and solemn, “as neither of us are willing to give quarter.”

“Hmm,” she said, turning the phrase over in her mind, thinking of her own quarters upstairs. “We are both adults, so surely we can resolve this as adults. I am willing to negotiate terms if you are.”

“Politics and play do not make for good bedfellows,” he said, his frown deepening. “Nor do they end in solid resolutions.”

“Then let us agree to a truce of sorts, and we can deliberate our grievances at length. I can be flexible,” she promised. To emphasize her point, she slid her leg up his thigh, nudging him with a gentle but insistent pressure. He sucked in his breath as she moved, and he quickly took a step away from her, releasing her wrist at last. She smiled, taking her small victories where she could. Then she held up her hand to ply her case.

“I want you to stop meddling in my affairs, and I want you to stop sending people and then taking them away once we ferret them out as spies. I want you to swallow your pride and let me help you in my own way, no matter how insignificant it may seem in the long run. I also want you naked and in my room upstairs—preferably in the real world, but I’ll take what I can get,” she said, ticking off each point on a finger. He cleared his throat at that, shifting on the balls of his feet, but he did not deign to reply. 

“You want me to behave and try not to get myself killed,” she continued, raising an eyebrow, “which is rather a tall order when you think about it, given all the weird things that have happened in the last five years.”

“Be that as it may, it would put my mind at ease if I knew that you were at least trying to stay out of the direct line of fire,” he said, clasping his hands behind him once again. “However, I know you as well, and while I trust you to follow through on a promise, I do know that you sometimes do not take the spirit of the oath to heart.”

“That’s an awfully nice way of telling me you think that I make empty promises,” she said, the smile dying on her face. “So where does that leave us? Why ask me to make an oath that you don’t think I will keep?”

“Because I know you,” he said, walking towards her again. He put his hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze and kissing the top of her head. “And I know that you do your best to do what is right. All I ask is for you to take extra precautions when you are on assignment.” He moved to tilt her head up, and gave her a smile. “I can be flexible as well.”

“Prove it,” she said, goading him on as her leg pressed against his thigh again. She tucked a finger into the neck of his breastplate and pulled him down for a kiss, plastering herself against him, feeling the heat of him through the metal and leather. She dropped her hand to pull him closer, settling on holding his rear, a familiar and favorite spot. For his part, Solas practically dragged her up his leg, one hand on the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head, deepening the kiss. 

She whimpered at the intensity of his touch, trying to arch against him, finding it somewhat difficult when he’d quite literally swept her off her feet. Solas moved his attentions down her neck, murmuring elvish too quick and too old for her to catch. His lips left tingling trails of magic, the intensity somewhat subdued within the context of the Fade, but strong enough to leave her panting, clinging to him by the time he lifted his head to bury his face in her hair.

“Solas!” she cried, and he staggered at the sound of her voice, weaving as though he was going to fall— and then they landed on what felt like a cushion of air, draped in silks and fur. She opened her eyes, not realizing that they’d drifted shut, and found herself staring at the familiar ceiling of her bedroom.

Except that it wasn’t her bedroom—the decorations were far more lavish than her Spartan furnishings, the bed and linens far more comfortable than anything she’d gotten from the shops of Val Royeaux, or the gifts of well-meaning nobles. Even the scent was different, although it was not unfamiliar or unwelcome. How many times had she fallen asleep, alone, wishing that she could still smell him on the pillows?

She gasped as his hands found their way under her shirt, gentle, teasing strokes that had her writhing beneath him. Fortunately, the move to the bedroom had managed to remove most of the armor as well, and clad in his simple tunic and leggings, she was able to reciprocate with lightweight touches of her own. He moaned as her fingers brushed against his length, rocking against her palm while he peeled away the layers of clothes between them.

Every touch was like a brand upon her skin, his lips following the familiar paths along the lines of her body, pausing to savor particularly sensitive areas. By the time he made his way back to her mouth she was panting, her body on fire, back arched, desperate for his touch. 

“Please,” she begged, trying to cant her hips at an angle that would catch him, hooking a leg around him to try to draw him in. He chuckled, the length of him just brushing against her mound, teasing. He lay flush against her, more or less making movement impossible, and nibbled at the tip of her ear. She called out his name as he slid against her, the sensitive nerves already charged by the (figurative and literal) magic touch of his fingers.

“What was that about submission?” he asked, voice rough and low. He rocked forward again and she keened in response, fingers clutching at his shoulder.

“Solas, please! _Aman na'mis!_ ” she cried, feeling his muscles tighten at the elven. She frantically tried to pull together other half-remembered phrases, cobbling them together as best as she could. “ _Pala em dera na aron tuelan— Rosa’da’din in‘ma edhas!_ ”

He chuckled, tsking and giving her a gentle bite on the breast, driving another yelp form her throat.

“Such foul language,” he purred, “I do not recall teaching you those phrases in our lessons. Hardly appropriate for such things to come out of such a pretty little mouth.”

He lowered a hand, tracing the sensitive skin between her folds, a finger slipping inside and stroking her with a slow, deliberate pressure.

“Swear to me that you will behave,” he said, finger withdrawing almost completely. She cried out, muscles clenching, trying to draw him back in, but he remained still, unmoved by her complaints.

“Solas--!” 

“Swear it,” he said, dipping his finger in once again and pressing up.

“I swear!” she cried out, and he growled, removing his finger and pulling back before thrusting forward, filling her completely. 

After the torment of his magic and his touch, she was near mad with over-stimulated nerves, and she was quick to come, her body clamping down on him, trying to keep him there. Solas fed more magic into her as she moved beneath him, continuing his relentless pace. She was on the cusp of yet another orgasm when he finally finished, and they rode out the waves together, both panting by the end of it.

Solas stretched up and kissed her gently, a long, lingering kiss that one gives when having to say goodbye. He pulled back to look into her eyes.

“You are so beautiful,” he said. Then his eyebrows drew together, lips pursed into a frown. “Stay safe, Vhenan. Do not let your lonely path lead you to danger.”

“Solas—“ she started, but then she was awake, heart pounding, muscles aching as the physical symptoms of recovering from a poisoned abdominal wound slammed into her. She screamed, although pain had very little to do with it.

“BASTARD!” 

She felt the heavy trample of feet before she heard them, and she recognized the gait of the woman who ran into the tent before Cassandra had pulled back the tent flap and burst through.

“Are you alright? Do you need the medic?” the Seeker asked, blade drawn and eyes wide, looking for something to stab. Remli sighed, bringing her hand to her face, embarrassed to feel tears leaking out of her eyes. Cassandra noticed them and froze, comprehension dawning as she realized the threat had not come from outside of the tent. 

“I am going to rip out his spleen and feed it to the wolves,” Remli grit out between clenched teeth, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her arm. Cassandra sighed, sheathing her sword and coming to sit by the bedroll.

“Not until you have fully recovered,” the woman clucked, peeling back a blanket to inspect the bandage. Remli shivered at the cold air on her skin, dimly aware that she was unclothed beneath the heavy pelt. Cassandra muttered something under her breath, replacing the blanket and reaching for one of the apothecary’s bottles. “Once you are well, we can certainly discuss whatever plans you have in regards to a face-to-face meeting with Solas.” The woman’s dark brows furrowed. “I have some select things to say to him as well.”

“I’m not hearing more shouting, and I don’t smell any blood, so I’m guessing that was a false alarm?” the familiar bellow of Bull drifted through the tent, the Qunari no doubt trying to give her some privacy instead of barging in.

“Just a dream,” called Remli, sipping the tonic that Cassandra offered. She shuddered at the bitter burn that followed the liquid down her throat. “Do me a favor, though, and talk to the medic if you can find her. Tell her nothing has changed, and that I don’t want her to leave.”

“Ok…” was the reply, Bull working through putting the pieces together on his own. “You want me to get the Chargers on the trail if she’s skipped out?”

She sighed, blowing out her last breath as she eased herself back down to the bedroll.

“No, if she’s already gone, don’t bother following. She’ll have gone back to him, and he’s going to need a medic if I get my hands on him.”

“That’s the spirit! Glad to hear you’re feeling better, Boss,” said Bull, and then headed out to see if he could find Solas’ spy before the woman escaped. Cassandra peered down at the elven woman, uncertain.

“Will you be alright?” she asked at last.

“That’s rather a loaded question,” Remli laughed, wiping away the last of the tears and drawing in as deep a breath that she could manage. “Don’t worry, it takes more than poisoned dagger and a dream to dissuade me. The Dalish will never submit to anything.”

She rested her hand over her heart, closing her eyes to try to get back to sleep. 

“Although perhaps we’ll be a little more cautious moving forward.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, elvhen phrases taken from the ever-talented FenxShiral's Project Elvhen, found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883/chapters/7826624
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:  
> Aman na'mis : I shall sheathe your blade  
> Pala em dera na aron tuelan— Rosa’da’din in‘ma edhas : Fuck me like a creator -cum inside me


End file.
